Extinction

I am afraid… I am afraid…, I am afraid of leaving, I am afraid of forgetting. I am afraid of loving; not loving you… So, I leave my October kisses on February foliage, to the boughs of banyan, Leave my songs in the sunny fields to sunbirds, among swans. So that they swim in the swift swinging Zephyr Leave my scent to the old mountains, ancient trees. Leave my icicles of images to carabao, coyote, chickadee... Leave my prancing poems to the merging rivers. So that they could peck the piercing heart Leave my vineyard imagination to the forest frolic. Leave my snaky secrets to squirrels. Leave my chirping laughter to the peepal tree. So that their chime rhyme climbs every time Leave my dreams to the dawning sun. so that they rise and spread the crimson hue With birds clearing the dark So that they nibble with bugs and beetles So that they mingle in the jingle of joy With the tinkling cows, goats and buffaloes Leave a smiling autobiography on Lily, aster, jasmine,.. Leave peace of poppy, primrose, pansy… Leave my watery touch on grass, on the moth, on the dandelion. Leave my pain and sorrow in the borrow, in the crevices, in the den. Leave my anger with the lions, the tigers, the hyenas, the badgers. Leave my being in soil among lichens, in the air you breathe. To be in your being Test positive, extinction What’s positive can be negative? Who is speaking this language? Language preserves what is not alive Or our language of cruelty killed Dodo and friends Language is busy with subscriptions and followers We are naming those who are not here Or are we calling them for name’s sake? Our arms spread, and we wiped them from the picture Or our colour discolours the picture. Adam, you blurred their figures. In the beginning, there were forests. Forest, Forest burning bright In the cities of the concrete What immoral hand or leering eye He who made Dodo not made to be killed by thee Oh! Your love is a list of extinct Is this the age of extinction? The last supper This is the way the world ends Not with a bang but a whimper T S Eliot Is it so? Yep. Many already had their last supper. Many are in the process of it and Many will have it soon Leave a mark or leaving marks? RAM or ROM? Come on. Do you know how many said goodbyes While leaving the earth? This city is filled with poison as if a snake were ruling Working tirelessly with greedy gobblers To rip off life everywhere and fill with concrete feathers Millions, machines, murdered, and grief piling on layer upon layer Whose anger is this that’s leaping from the forest Stop Prometheus! It’s not the cake’s candle, it’s the earth The white mountains are sailing and turned small There are beaches where sand-like time is Drifting every minute, if you reach there You might get some Are you a part of that sand Or that sand a part of you Do you remember the third dimension’s direction? One in many, many in one In this darkness, only prayers are left for children Cuckoo’s song (after great masters) Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Singing soft Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Singing aloft Sing to me only with your voice And I will pledge no more song Or leave a song in the bough to rejoice And I’ll not look for songs Your voice is so divine Call for the magpie and the lark, Over shady groves they hover, Your song is the best, which is the zest. Ask me no more what joy is in your joy My morn, my noon, my dream, my love, Are all within your songs move! You move my soul when feeling out of sight I love your song every day Felt in the heart, and felt in the soul Felt in the vein and felt in life I praise your song more than the whole treasure, Or all the dulcet that the west measure. Your song is such that nothing to compare. Sing in sweetness and majesty. Sing on, sing on, pour on your joy Echoes of joy rippling in my soul Ah! Men don’t know, no such joy I could love you more than your song I could hear, to raise hope in your song Madhumalti Is it the burst of youth? Or The burst of beauty In bounty? The buds, the flowers, the leaves All bursting, The branches, the twigs, the tendrils All bursting. And I am lusting on the flowery boughs. And I am bent by your scent. The ooze and the woos of the profuse The birds, the bees, the butterfly Insane in your incense Vibrancy in variety, white, pink, and red You got it right, all in one. In Madhu, Madhu, Madhu Madhu for health, wealth and happiness The trees in truth are our parents -Czeslaw Milosz I am of the lineage of trees. This putrid air pesters me. The weeping ancestry of flowers flavours my life. The pollen of my joy is sitting on the lichens carried by ladybug. The crickets, bees, beetles, mantis, moths, hoppers, babblers, warblers in no specific direction and all directions with joy are specific. The joy like spring, spring like water, Water like wind, wind like clouds, clouds like rain, rain like seasons, seasons like leaves, Leaves like the moon, the moon like mountains, Mountains like rock, rock like trees, trees like birds, birds like butterflies, butterflies like flies, flies like moments of joy. The rainbow of my family had its sway all over the world, and the smiling sun swaddled The seasons. The twigs, the tendrils, the roots, the seeds, the dandelions, the pollens, the fragrance stitched and knitted in my being. The lips of the ocean are caressed by seas, the seas rhyming with rivers, the rivers singing with streams. I need huge trees to ripen by being. Oh! Take me to the heart of the forest. I am bored with writing these boring poems about: This depression of activists, these limping policies, This lack of commitment, these aborted saplings, This production of profits, these melee for money, This hunger for territory, these intrusions of technologies This position of power, and these murderers of the earth. Let me end this poem with a line. When we care for Nature, we become what we are.